The Black Night
by Richards9999
Summary: Oliver Queen gets a takeover offer for Queen Consolidated he seemingly can't refuse, while various other visitors to Starling City takes up most of his time. Featuring some other DC Characters.


Starling City at night, he felt, was his. The darkness caressed him with a lover's touch, smoothing his rugged lines and easing – if only slightly – his soiled conscious. In return he reacted to her anguish, signalled by the aching sirens of the emergency services and the jarring screams of its residents. Soothing her pain with swiftness of thought and brutality of action. He was, she knew, always there. Like that night, as the steam vented around him from the various flues and chimneys of a decaying industrial district, he waited patiently on her roof top ready to act; ready to come to her aid. Below him, at the gate of the warehouse, activity was escalating. Over the last two nights he had sat and waited for an anonymous lead to pay off. Of course, he smiled, it could be a trap. That's what excited him. And what would all this mean if there was no excitement? he thought. And what better way to draw those out who would lay a trap than to spring it? His mouth almost curled into a smile under his heavy green hood. Almost.

He raised his binoculars to view the movement at the gate in more detail. He saw a convoy of three trucks parking up and their occupants de-bussing. So far this has all the indications of a very ordinary delivery or pick up. However, a close up of the personnel showed that some of them were carrying short assault rifles and wearing masks that hid their faces. Whilst there could have been a legitimate reason to shroud business in secrecy and to protect a precious consignment, this didn't look as rational as he first thought.

Choosing to view the tableau from another angle he straighten up from his prone position on the roof and ran towards the building's edge. As his run turned into a sprint, he gauged the distance between his current position and the building opposite. His foot landed solidly on the warehouse roof's edge and his tempered leg muscles launched him into the air. For what appeared to be minutes he hung in the space between the buildings: his arms flailed like a windmill's sails in a storm, his legs kicked out as if he were treading water in the middle of an ocean. Finally his momentum brought him to the ledge of the building opposite. His feet landed firmly but his motion forced him onward into a roll which delivered him smartly, and silently, behind a redundant chimney stack.

From this new vantage point he once again viewed he activity below. Once again, he spied the armed workers among those shuffling boxes from trucks onto the raised platform of the warehouse's loading bay, where a throng of other people had appeared. He continued to watch as one of the crates was opened and its contents inspected by one of the newcomers. From this distance – and in this light - the new figures features were sketchy. Although he could see that it was a tall, broad man in a pale business suit. The figure dipped hand into the crate and removed part of his contents.

Zooming in on the figure's arm, the shadowy watcher on the rooftop could see the dark outline of a familiar shape in the suited man's hand. It was a shape the would bring more bloodshed and anguish to the Glades than it had already suffered. It would give the gangs - already stretching the police department's resources to the full - more leverage in the ongoing battle for territory and power. It was a state of the art assault rifle, the one thing that he could not allow on the streets.

His hand swept to his quiver and he selected a shaft from the holster. Quickly, he notched the arrow and fluidly drew back the bow's string and released it, launching the arrow into the darkness below and pulling its trailing zip line taught behind it. He hooked his bow over the thin wire and flew off the building's edge and sailed down to the warehouse floor. He released the bow and dropped behind the rear of a truck, landing behind one of the armed assailants. He crouched low and swept out a leg and tripped the man. Then, springing up he landed an elbow into his neck knocking him out cold. He crouched at the rear of the truck, peering around the length of the vehicle to assess where the other men were and to plan his next move.

He quickly moved along the length of the truck to its front where to two other armed guards stood attentively watching the exchange of arms show on the warehouse loading bay. His bow arrows, tipped with high voltage stun devices, sent them into silent convulsions and dropped them to the ground. He quickly leapt up on top of the truck to gain a vantage point from which to observe the weapons exchange, keeping low on its roof and silently notching another arrow. This one was an incendiary device. Aimed and the crowded loading bay, it would announce his arrival and disorientate the gathered company just enough for him to put an end to their business. He swept back the string readying the arrow to launch, aiming along the shaft at the heart of the crowd. Before he could release his payload however, an explosion rocked the truck he was perched on and a series of other similar blasts echoed around the warehouse. The effect was similar to the plan he had hatched: the crowd was confused. Acrid smoke quickly filled the confined area of the warehouse loading bay sending out thick tendrils of billowing grey smog. Those not overcome by dived for cover and adopted defensive stances, kneeling and sweeping their weapons left and right through the smoke an confusion to draw a thread on whoever was attacking them.

Although his ears rang with residue of sonic blast of the explosions, the archer steadied himself and decided it would be wise to use the fortuitous nature of the events to his advantage. He was curious, and a little worried, about who had set the grenades, but as it evened the odds in his favour, it was something he would worry about later. He leapt from the truck and landed on the back of a gunman, knocking the wind from him and laying him cold. Another brought his weapon up, but before he could pull the trigger, the archer's hand chopped him in the throat and his foot crashed into his chest sending the gunman sprawling into the darkness. Around him shouts of fear and anxiety punctuated the smokey air. He slipped on a pair of night vision goggles and instantly saw the silhouettes of the gang members' heat signature around him. He swung his head around to catch his bearings and picked his way through the trucks to the loading bay where the crate of weapons had been opened.

Pausing only to incapacitate two or three more armed men, he reached the raised loading bay and saw that the pale suited man was still there, crouching behind a crate barking orders at his subordinates around him. Even though he was bent over, he looked strong. Muscles strained under the suit's thin fabric stretching it over his bulky arms and legs as he knelt. His face, the archer noted, was obscured by a dark mask with limited details. And in his hand, he wielded a large silver automatic pistol. The bowman picked his way through the scattered crates and reached a vantage point where he had a clear view the loading bay's main platform where he could easily release an arrow that would stun the pale suited man long enough for the police to get there.

He drew back the arrow and aimed along its shaft at the deck of the loading bay, but before he could let it go a figure clad in a black suit descended on the platform and began to engage the pale suited man's henchmen. This new character's movements were a blur: arms and feet moved in choreographed fashion, connecting with the torsos and heads of those around him. He then drew a pair of what looked like police nightsticks from holsters on his belt and dispatched more of the henchmen, rendering them unconscious. He then rounded on the pale suited man, effortlessly disarming him with one quick sweep of his club. The bigger man struck out with a large fist and the black clad figure dodged to the left and brought his right hand club up to smash into the large man's midriff forcing him back and causing him to slip over and land on his back. The black uniformed figure spun the club in his hand and readied himself to deliver what, in some circles the bowman knew, was a kill blow.

The archer's bow whispered and a green shaft sped towards the combatant as his club surged forward in its deadly arc. The black clad figure seemed to pivot and brought his left club up in a counter arc, meeting the arrow and sending it harmlessly crashing into the concrete of the loading bay. The bowman, whilst impressed with the black clad newcomer's reflexes, had already sprung himself from his vantage point and was thundering towards him. The bowman's shoulder hit the other man low, sending him off balance and forcing him backwards. Quickly, though the other man recovered and readied himself for another attack by throwing up his clubs in a defensive stance.

"I have no quarrel with you," he rasped. The bowman, flicking another arrow into his bow and stretching its string, noticed that the other man was about his age and height although his hair, which was closely cropped, was darker. The other man also wore a mask that obscured his eyes and broke the lines of face such that later recollection would be next to impossible.

"Maybe not," the bowman whispered back, "but no one kills anyone in this city on my watch."  
The other man whirled his clubs and reset their position in an aggressive stance just as the wailing of distant seared through the night. He cocked an ear to them as if to gain some indication of their arrival. Then, after he swept his arm quickly downwards, a cloud of dense, acrid smoke surrounded him and left the archer coughing as the pungent fumes constricted his throat and brought tears to his eyes. After a few seconds the smoke cleared and he saw that the masked man had disappeared. As had the large gun dealer. The sirens drew closer. It had been a frustrating night. The bowman knew it was also time to leave.

"...so I went back there after an hour and it had all gone" said Oliver Queen, pacing the floor of the operations base between the computer desks. "This isn't some small time hood we're talking about. These guys were organised. They wore uniforms."

John Diggle, leisurely leaning against a desk with arms folded across his chest, cocked his head towards the chair where Felicity sat typing at a screen and said simply: "Maybe we can pull the police records of the activity last night. Do some cross matching against the Feds' database. If they're big time, they'd have pulled this stunt elsewhere."

"Already on it," Felicity murmured without looking up. "You'd be surprised how many people out there manage to get their hands on state of the art weaponry." She looked over her shoulder at Diggle. "Does the military do yard sales now?"

Diggle, and ex marine, shrugged. "Hey," he said, unfolding his arms and spreading his palms wide in a pleading gesture, " times are hard."

"Okay, that's good" interjected Oliver who, up until that moment had been deep in thought, " but what about our other problem?"

The others turned their heads to look at him inquisitively. Felicity's fingers paused on the keyboard as she waited expectantly for Oliver to explain himself.

"Our vigilante friend" he said simply, not breaking his stride. "The last thing I need - we need - is some loose canon cracking skulls on the street."

"You said he used billy clubs?" asked Diggle. Oliver nodded slowly. "I've not heard of anyone using those on the street before. It's kind of unique. The press would've had a meltdown if a new vigilante with that type of MO was operating in The Glades."

"True," agreed Oliver. "Which makes me think he wasn't from The Glades. Felicity," Queen barked, almost too tersely to be polite, "check the Fed records for any vigilante activity that fits our newcomer's description and activity. If he's in Starling City we need to get as much intelligence about him as we can. We need to know what to expect."

"Certainly" chimed Felicity, turning back to her screen. Then added under her breath: "As you asked so nicely..."

"I appreciate it, " Oliver said, his face breaking into a small smile. He knew he was difficult at times and he didn't like always barking orders and being directive. He also didn't like getting Felicity and Diggle into situations where they could come to harm. After all, this was his penance. Why should they have to suffer?

In some way, he wished he could take it back. He wished he hadn't returned from the island. He wished he hadn't become the vigilante and taken revenge on the corrupt and greedy who had sucked the city dry and tossed it over their shoulder like some drain beer can. He wished they hadn't volunteered to help him. They knew, as well as he did, that the exit door was always open. But he also knew they'd never take it. No matter how difficult the circumstances. No matter oh dangerous the situation. They would be there. He respected then for that.

"Thank you," Oliver said again still smiling. He walked over to the rack where he's placed his bow and tested the tension of the string. It sang a melodious chord as he plucked it. The speed of its vibration made it appear fatter for a millisecond before it once again came to rest as a single, silken string.

"Back in the world of Oliver Queen," Felicity called out without turning around from the screen, "you have a few appointments that need your attention. That is, if you can pull yourself away from all that brooding and looking wistfully into the middle distance."

"You've noticed that too?" asked Diggle. "I thought it came with the suit. You know: bow, hood dark demeanour. Part of the crime fighting arsenal."

"Perhaps he picked it up in 'Crime Fighting Quarterly'," Felicity chimed.

"They have that?" asked Diggle amused and willing to fuel the joke at Oliver's expense.

"Sure," Felicty turned to face him, a grin appearing on her lips. "How else do you think these guys keep up with popular methods?"

Diggle sniggered and couldn't help seeing a slight chuckle emerging from Oliver's mouth.

"Yeah," Queen said, " you've got me. I'm a paid up subscriber. So - in the world of Oliver Queen- who are the meetings with?"

Felicity tapped a few buttons on her keyboard and the screen was filled with Oliver's schedule. She scanned the calendar and hummed softly to herself.

"There's a meeting with the new head of security that you've missed," she turned to shoot a glance at Oliver over her glasses. "Whoops!"

"I'll reschedule," said Oliver. "What else?"

"A meeting with a Roman Sionis this afternoon," Felicity read from the screen. She shook her head. "I don't know who that is. It's not one of your usual contacts. Looks like it's a sales pitch. Do you want me to reschedule?"

Oliver shook his head. "No. I've heard of him. He's an industrialist from the east coast somewhere. I'll hear him out."

"Okay," sighed Felicity. "You're the boss," she added under her breath. Then she added quickly: "And there's a policeman to see you."

"Officer Lance?" Oliver enquired, his interest piqued at the possibility of Laurel's father dropping by unannounced. Maybe there was a lead on the gang activity last night that Lance may have some intelligence on that they could use.

"No," replied Felicity with an impressed look on her face. "This cop's from Blüdhaven."

His appointment was already seated when Oliver entered his spacious, glass walled office. He quickly finished up a call to Diggle and pushed open the door. Felicity had retaken the seat at her desk outside and Oliver was aware that she was vaguely waving a coffee pot, somewhat ironically at him. He chose to ignore her and strode to his desk. The man sat in the chair opposite rose sharply and offered his hand.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, officer...?" Oliver trailed off, taking the out-stretched hand and pumping it firmly. The man was about Oliver's height and probably of similar build. His hair was dark and closely cropped. Maybe a cop cut, Oliver mused. His face, whilst wearing a smile, appeared hard and rugged, even though he and Oliver were probably of similar age.

"Grayson" said the other man. "Officer Richard Grayson. Blüdhaven Police Department."

"Nice to meet you, Officer Grayson," Oliver sat and indicated the man to do so too. "Can I get you anything?" Oliver, whilst wary, retained his congeniality.

"No," replied the police man. " I'm just fine, sir."

"So," said Oliver, acknowledging the other's polite refusal, "what can I help you with? You have to admit, you're a little outside your jurisdiction here."

Grayson smirked slightly and adjusted his attire. Queen noted that he wasn't wearing the uniform usually associated with policemen. No starched blue shirt, flannel trousers or heavy boots. No, Grayson wore an almost elegant grey suit and a white shirt with and open collar. His badge hung with authority from his jacket's breast pocket almost personifying it as a real shield rather than the small golden one.

"This is cross cooperative work between Blüdhaven and Starling City PDs," he said simply. "It's a routine exercise when there's cause to."

Oliver nodded. "I see," he said. "Shouldn't you have an escort? I wouldn't have expected your hosts to let you come up here on your own."

"I'm a big boy, Mr Queen," replied Grayson with a faint smile." And you answer your earlier question, I'd like to ask you about Roman Sionis."

Oliver raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I've never met him," he shrugged. "Why the interest?"

"Let's just say we have reason to believe he has an interest in your business, Mr Queen," Grayson's face tightened and he leant forward placing his hands on Oliver's desk.

"What makes you think I have and interest in him?" Oliver shrugged, clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair.

"There are, " Grayson continued,"shall we say, schools of thought that describe Sionis's activities as less than desirable."

"Oh," said Oliver, feigning disinterest," in what way?"

"Drug dealing, gun running, murder," Grayson responded. "Those sorts of things."

"And you have evidence to prove this?" asked Oliver.

"No," Grayson smirked. "As I said, that is what one school of thought would suggest."

"Are you warning me off an business investment, Officer Grayson?" Oliver frowned and returned to a more business like stance at his desk. "Because, like you, I'm a big boy too."

"No Mr Queen," said Grayson, standing. "Take it as a piece of advice. Now, I think I've covered everything I needed to."

Queen nodded and smiled thinly.

"I take it you're here off the record, Officer. Judging by that piece of advice," Oliver said as Grayson walked to the door.

"My presence here is on the record, Mr Queen," he said flatly. "My advice isn't."

He showed himself out.

Oliver watched him leave, raised an eyebrow and buzzed Felicity on the intercom.

"A new task," he said when she answered. "Find all you can about Officer Richard Grayson."

Diggle was crouched beside a crate at a seemingly abandoned warehouse when Oliver's car pulled up. Queen climbed out and his partner threw him a wave by way of a greeting. There was still a chill in the afternoon Spring air, so both men had an excuse to wear gloves to compliment their heavy overcoats. With Diggle in that stance, Oliver could imagine his friend crouching for cover below the hull of an armoured personnel vehicle, or beside the rubble of a ruined house. Diggle's many quirks gave away his military past quite overtly sometimes.

"Your voicemail said you'd found something?" Oliver asked with some degree of optimism, crouching down beside John and peering into the crate.

"Not much," said Diggle with a resigned sigh. "You were right: It looks as though whoever was running this exchange was very thorough in their clean up. The cops haven't even cordoned this area off."

"This is getting worrying," muttered Oliver. "A gang that can set up a weapons sale then disappear without a trace is going to be difficult to stop."

"But not impossible," said John with a broadening grin. He placed his hand into the crate they were crouched by and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Oliver between pinched fingers who enthusiastically unravelled it and scanned its surface. Unfamiliar numbers and words covered it's crumpled surface. Oliver's face dropped into a look of confusion.

"I don't recognise anything on here, Dig" he said, standing and shooting his friend a sideways look. "What does it mean?"

"I've no idea," confessed Diggle grinning. "But take a look in the bottom left corner..."

Oliver did and his mouth, widening into a grin, released a slight chuckle. He slowly stood . Followed by Diggle.

"Son of a gun..." Oliver snorted. In the lowest left hand corner of the paper was printed the crest the name of the company that printed the paper: Sionis Industries.

"Okay, it's circumstantial," confessed Diggle, " but when you combine it with this -" he tossed a metallic object to Queen, who stooped suddenly to catch it, " - it becomes bit more condemning."

Oliver studied the object Diggle had thrown. It was a rifle magazine. It contained no rounds and from the oily residue on its surface it was probably new.

"That's a mag for a RST -128," said Diggle matter-of-factly. "State of the art assault rifle with built on grenade launcher. Nasty."

"Nice," Oliver said throwing the magazine back to John. " Where'd you find it? The police reports said the place was clear."

Diggle raised an eyebrow. " False bottomed crates. Starling City's finest weren't that thorough."

"Good job, Dig," said Oliver, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "Let's get back to the ranch. I want to see what Felicity's dug up. Let's keep this under wraps for now."

"You know, if I've never said this before, " said Felicity dropping a wad of papers onto Oliver's desk, " people who do what you do are nuts. Really nuts. Like, lock up and throw away the key nuts."

Oliver gave her a withering look and picked up the top sheet of paper from the pile. She dropped into the chair opposite him and crossed her arms forcefully.

"I'm serious!" she snapped. Oliver had rarely seen her rattled over a data enquiry request. Usually, she would offer a sarcastic comment about being under employed or a nonchalant gesture like a wave of her hand to signal her annoyance at the mundanity of the request. This was something new. Oliver was still getting used to Felicity's limits. She wasn't averse to 'field work' or undercover operations and he respected for that. He was, however, careful enough to ensure she was always safe. Or as safe as he could guarantee. Which, on balance, wasn't great.

In retrospect, he should have played things differently with Felicity. Whilst her skills were invaluable to his pursuits, she wasn't a commodity that he wished to endanger. As he frequently did. He often wondered how strong she actually was? How much she could take? He often thought he should end her involvement with him but then, he thought, how would he do that? Submerge her department in a new project that consumed all her time? Transfer her to an office in South America or Australia? No, that wouldn't be fair. She knew the risks she was exposing herself to, he thought, and she was big enough to make her own decisions. If she'd wanted out, she would've said so. She was, he thought, right at that moment, glaring at him from across the desk, strong enough.

"Do you want to expand on that?" he asked flatly, returning the paper to the top of the stack.

"Okay," Felicity barked, then took a deep breath and exhaled deeply. "Sorry," she said more meekly. "It's just this stuff is way out there."

"Okay," Oliver said with a half smile. "Give me the abridged version."

"So," Felicity began, "I cross referenced your new vigilante with any reports of similar activity across the country in the press or in any police reports."

"And this is what you found?" suggested Queen, tapping the pile with the tip of a pointing finger.

"Pretty much," his associate shot back. "I found reports of your friend or, at least people like him, from Central City to Metropolis. Not just your black clad club swinger, oh no," she pulled the sheath of papers towards her a started to sort through them. "You've got a red blur in Keystone City that rounds up crooks, reports of a fish man in Miami and of a blood drinking vampire on the streets of Gotham! Oh, and if that isn't enough we had a green, arrow shooting ghost in Starling City."

"I never read my own press," Oliver smirked.

"I guessed that," Smoak shot back. "Your club man, or someone like him, has been involved in incidents in Gotham City, Blüdhaven and Metropolis. He's pretty universal. A traveller maybe."

Oliver leaned back in his chair. Maybe this masked man was more a mystery than he first thought. "Thanks," he said slipping his hands behind his head. "What about Sionis?"

"Ah," said Felicity, whipping another paper from the pile on Oliver's desk. "He's a bit more straight forward."

Oliver, his interest snared, leaned forward over the desk and rested his chin on his now knitted fingers. He raised his eyebrows in expectation.

"Well," Felicity began referring to her notes, "from his official bio he's a self made industrialist from Gotham. Specialises in mainly steel and derivatives. Over the last few years has set up a lucrative export business and expanded across the east coast. He has won contracts in Europe and, more recently, Iraq. He's quite the magnate."

Oliver nodded sagely. "So far so good," he nodded. "What's the unofficial word?"

"That's less straight forward," Felicity said, turning the pages on her lap and pushing her spectacles up her nose. "Testaments from employees and ex business partners have been less than glowing. Claims he's involved with the local gang bosses in Gotham are rife. Rivals for contracts often concede to him through alleged threatening tactics and some have turned up dead or discredited in the press. None of this is ever linked to Sionis though."

She paused, she face falling into a scowl as a more desperate thought crossed her mind.  
"It makes me wonder what he wants with you," she continued. "He's not in the partnership business. He'll be looking for a buy out - all or nothing."

"I'm not out to sell," said Oliver. " Let's hear him out before we make any decisions." He smirked. "So Sionis is a mobster. Is there anything else I should know?"

"An alleged mobster," Felicity corrected. "There is one more thing. Some of the less savoury of his activities have featured reports of an individual wearing a black hood or mask. That sounds right up your street. Or dark alley."

Oliver smirked then his face fell as recognition dawned. "A man in a black mask?" he asked the woman opposite.

"That's what it says here," she sang back tapping the paper with an agitated finger.

"I think this conversation with Mr Sionis is going to be very interesting," Oliver muttered once again leaning back in his chair.

"He and his entourage have arrived," said Felicity rising from her seat and collecting her papers. "They're in hospitality. Shall I show them in?"

"Yeh," said a distracted Oliver, then he remembered himself and added: "Please."

Felicity gave him a mock salute and shuffled out if his office. This was going to be an interesting meeting, Oliver thought. Very interesting.

Sionis arrived with his entourage as Felicity had suggested. This was mostly advisers and hangers on, Oliver decided, but jutting out from the assorted throng like a shard of glass in a fresh wound was a team of three legal experts. Oliver noticed them straight away: their no nonsense suits, expensive haircuts and expertly manicured nails. They smiled thinly at him as Sionis's team arranged themselves around the large board table in Queen's office, carefully removing bound documents from soft leather brief cases.

The meeting was short but not sweet. Sionis a large man - heavily built with slicked back hair - wore a tight fitting white pin striped suit with a black shirt and tie which seemed to further his gangster credentials. He positioned himself opposite Oliver at the board table, flanked by his legal team and various deputies, who tapped furiously on mobile 'phones throughout the meeting.

"Let's get down to business, Queen," Sionis announced bullishly after the pleasantries of introduction passed barely without notice. His large hands spread out before him and his mouth curling into a leering smile.

"What makes you think I'm in a position to do business with you, Mr Sionis?" Oliver countered, conjuring a sneer of his own. He could have kicked himself for not summoning his legal team, but, he conceded, he hadn't known it was going to be that type of meeting.

"You ain't in a position not to," Sionis shot back, his smile had melted away almost instantly and was replaced by a hard, coarse sneer. He snapped a finger and one of his legal team slid a folder across the table to Oliver.

Queen - his glance shifting uneasily from one man to the other - smoothly lifted the paper folder and began to read its contents. After scanning a few paragraphs he began to feel rather uncomfortable. His shirt collar started to feel as if it was constricting around his throat and his fingers trembled, as if he had no control over them.

"You need to sign pages six and seven to agree the terms of the takeover," barked the lawyer. "Terms of settlement are highlighted in appendix two. Asset capture and liquidation processes will be standard."

"You want me to sell?" Oliver stuttered, shock instantly drenched him like flash flood. He had stared for several seconds mute with disbelief at the proposition in front of him. "I think you may be mistaken. I have no interest to relinquishing Queen Consolidated."

"Yeah?" Sionis chuckled, his broad face twisting into a hard sneer. " The way see it is that you got no choice. People ain't buying what you're selling anymore, Queen. With all that trouble you've been tagged with your brand is toxic. And not just in Starling City. You ain't gonna have a foothold anywhere in the country soon. You're done."

"So you waltz in here and help me out by buying up my stock," Oliver had shot back, his mouth becoming a hard, tight line. "I don't think so."

"Mr Queen," another lawyer interjected, "you really have no choice. My client has already begun to acquire shares in your businesses. It won't be long before he has a controlling stake and pushes through a hostile takeover." The lawyer then offered a sinister grin of his own and added quietly:"Be assured, those terms won't be a favourable as these."

"I need a partner, not a buyer," Oliver had protested, closing the folder and pushing it back to Sionis.

"This is the best offer you're gonna get," the big man had said, breaking into a subdued snigger. "I want to expand into Starling City, you need an out. This works for both of us."

"I recommend you consider this offer," the first lawyer hissed pushing the folder back to Oliver across the table. "Mr Sionis's generosity isn't infinite."

Queen smirked. "I think we're done," he chirped. Then he stood and watched his new adversary trail out his falling into a mask of contempt.

The steel railing that framed the crown of the warehouse's roof creaked under his weight as he perched in an action - ready crouch on its edge. His eyes pierced the shadows below watching for the occasional tell-tale flickering of light off a gun barrel, or a wisp of smoke from a stray cigarette. The sure signs that there was activity present that was probably not on the right side of the law. If he was being honest with himself, it was something he wanted to see. He wanted the excuse to feel the bow in his hand and to release an arrow into the night. He wanted to feel his fists, knees feet connect with someone that was doing something - anything - illegal. He hungered after it. The rage that grew inside him after the meeting with Sionis that afternoon had brought his anger to a boiling point. And this, he knew, was a sure fire way of releasing it.

Usually, he could restrain himself and keep the kernel of rage deep within him. Walled up in his psyche with considered meditation. However, no means of silent contemplation would have forced his anger into a locked room after that. No, Sionis started out just being another crook, hell bent on cashing in on Starling City's troubles. This afternoon's meeting, however, had made it personal. It was obvious that Sionis wanted to expand his business interests just to secure his criminal activity. It was also obvious that Oliver was in a good position to thwart him on both levels. The trick was doing so without the two worlds they inhabited meeting.

A stray light caught his eye below him and instinctively he let a line attached arrow fly into the darkness and he slide down its taught wire to the ground below. This was a relatively straight forward engagement: low level thugs dealing Vertigo . A small stain true, he thought, but needed to be bleached.

He caught the first gang member by surprise and took him down from behind with a sharp blow to the back of his head. He was out before he hit the ground. The second and third managed to draw their mini sub-machine guns, but a lasso arrow caught both of them around the legs, hoisted them into the air and left them dangling from a disused gantry. Their screams soon filled the relative quiet of the warehouse. The fourth, now aware of the vigilante's presence, drew his weapon and kept low behind some long abandon crates. He hadn't counted on an attack from above however and was in the middle of a slew of taunts when Oliver's heels caught him between the shoulders, forcing the air from his lungs and his head onto the concrete floor.

That only left number five...

...there was a metallic click behind him and Oliver turned to find the last gang member standing behind him, a cocked pistol clenched in a trembling hand. Oliver froze, knowing that would have to play this very carefully. His brain quickly ran through a series of scenarios choosing the best one for this situation. A scared thug with a loaded gun needed to be disarmed quickly. Oliver made calming gestures with his hands keeping his arms out stretched and palms down. His bow was slung over his back so he couldn't use that to smash the man's wrist or sweep his legs. He had to get in close.

Oliver slowly bent his knees - coiling his legs into a combat stance and exhaled - readying himself for a fight. A sound like a tree branch snapping scythed through the otherwise still air of the warehouse. The man screamed and the pistol dropped harmlessly from his now limp wrist. There was another sound, more muted than the last, like a pebble falling onto wet sand, and the man's knees collapsed under him and he fell to the flow. Another dull sound rung out and the man lay prone; sprawled at Oliver's feet.

Queen's hand swept forward and his bow was suddenly in his hand, the string taught and and arrow aimed at the cause of the knockout blows to the villain at his feet. The figure lowered his billy clubs and stood calmly as Oliver took a pace backward to maximise his shot.

"I thought I'd find you here," the figure rasped, as recognition dawned on Oliver. " As I said before, I have no quarrel with you."

Caution was still to be observed in Oliver's eyes so he didn't let his aim waiver from the combat stance his has taken earlier.

'What do you want?" hissed Queen, his eyes darted over the dark suited newcomer.

"The Black Mask," the other man said simply. "His operation is embryonic here but he's looking for a foothold. "

"Who?" he said, slightly taken aback my the response. He cocked his head in confusion and let his bow drop slightly. He thought he may have seen a slight smile flicker briefly across the other man's face, and his head shake slightly as if chiding him.

"The man you let get away the other night," the black dressed man said simply. "Sionis's hence man. I've tracked him here from Gotham. He's resourceful. He always gives me the slip."

"Why not go after Sionis direct?" said Queen ignoring the other's obvious barb. "He's as crooked as they come."

"There's no evidence against him," snapped back the other. " Squeeze his henchman enough and he'll sing like a canary."

"Right," said the archer, smirking slightly, sarcasm rolling off his tongue. "I didn't see much squeezing the other night. If I hadn't intervened who knows what you would've done."

"I'm not a killer," the dark figure said quietly. "And I never will be. Someone taught me that along time back."

"That's so reassuring," the archer shot back. "Anyway, there may be evidence of Sionis' involvement with the deal the other night. It's circumstantial but it may tie him in. There was a receipt in one of the crates with Sioins's insignia on it."

"Sionis provides munitions," said the dark man, with impatience creeping into his voice, "he'll say he's not responsible for who buys them." Then he added with a sterner voice: "Look, I can't make you trust me, but my guess is that together we stand a better chance of stopping him."

"I work alone," said Oliver, firmly.

"So I understand," said the other man, raising a hand above his head and firing a line up to the gantry above. He was then launched up onto the gantry so quickly, Oliver couldn't release an arrow to stop him. He stared after him, cursing under his breath and releasing the bowstring's tension.

The man called out from above: "There's another deal planned at Kane Freight, warehouse six tomorrow night. Be there."

Then he was gone.

The pavement outside Queen Consolidated was awash with journalist, protestors holding "Queen Out" placards and the police when Oliver arrived the next day. He was quickly ushered through the mob to the door, artfully dodging a few barbed words, pointed questions and raw eggs that were thrown by the crowd. Once safely behind the reinforced glass doors, he turned to Diggle and gave his beat "What's going on?" look.

"We'd better take this upstairs," sighed the big man as they strode to the lift and ride the car up to Oliver's office.

Felicity was trying to placate several people as they arrived at the top floor. Oliver recognised them as share holders and board members that usually only turned up for the AGM or a free lunch. Today, however, they looked slightly agitated. Oliver guessed that there was after half a dozen of them and, whilst they held a lot of sway with the internal politicking of the business, it was still unfair to let Felicty deal with them alone. She was doing admirably though, he thought. Unflappably, she remained sat at her desk, taking down names on a pad on her desk and politely answering queries (mostly with the phrase: "I'll ask Mr Queen when he gets in."). The crowd brandished papers and folders like the torches and pitchforks of an enrages mob from an old Hollywood B movie, Oliver observed. And, whilst he could see that his newly appointed PA was holding her own, it was somewhat unfair to let her continue.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Oliver announced and suddenly all eyes fell on him. It was as if the words were magnetic as almost instantly the crowd detached itself from Smoak's desk and surged, as one unit, towards Oliver. He held up a hand to silence them, a thin smile crossing his face.

"We have a situation that needs attention," he said, expansively. "Give me a few minutes to be briefed on it and I'll be at your disposal."

The crowd, who had fallen silent, suddenly started up again. Oliver, flanked by Diggle, dragged Felicity from her desk, and fell into his office ensuring the door was locked behind them.

"Okay," he exhaled loudly, as the noise from the hoard now glaring in at them was only slightly diminished by the glass partition, "what the hell is going on?"

Felicity and Diggle exchanged sharp glances. Then after a curt nod Felicity pointed at Oliver's chair behind his desk, indicating he should sit, while she and Diggle dropped into the seats opposite.

"I take it you haven't read the morning paper?" she quizzed. Oliver shook his head stiffly. "Seen the TV?" Again a quick shake. "Okay," she exhaled causing a whistle to escape her lips. "Someone has been buying up the small shareholdings in Queen Consolidated over the last few weeks. There's been a steady rise in the market interest and some analysts reckon it could mean a takeover."

"Sionis, no doubt," Oliver nodded. "He won't get enough of a foothold to mount a takeover."

"Not through fair means," Diggle cut in. "But someone has been making mischief with some high profile shareholders."

Felicty threw a bundle of photographs and press cuttings into the desk. "Last night a yacht belonging to a key investor was torched in Miami. An apartment in Metropolis belonging to another large shareholder was subject to a gas explosion. A car belonging to the wife of another investor was torched in a parking garage in Gotham."

"Coincidence?" suggested Queen in a barely audible murmur. He picked up the papers and studied them.

"Well," said Diggle, "bearing in mind the owners of the damaged property have instructions to sell their shares in the company about an hour after the event it seems unlikely. The police and press don't seem to think so. They're all too happy to make the connection between them and Queen Consolidated. It's as if they've been fed a line."

"And the angry mob outside is scared investors wanting their money back," Felicity added, nodding in agreement.

"Sionis!" Oliver hissed. "Sonuva-" He slammed the desk with an open palm. Felicity recoiled as the resultant loud bang of flesh against reinforced glass caught her unawares and drove a spike of fright into her.

Composing herself she passed Oliver another dossier.

"What's this?" he said, his voice still terse with anger.

"It's what you wanted on Officer Grayson," Felicity said simply.

"Is there a summary," said Oliver, recovering some of his calm, but gesturing the crowd outside. "Because I don't think their patience is going to last?"

"Okay," Felicity shrugged. " He's a cop. Clean record, no disciplinary problems, good collar rate. A model policeman. He graduated from UCG with a degree in law."

"So far so ordinary," said Oliver, idly thumbing through the new papers. "Why the thick file?"

"It get's weird," Felcity smirked. "His parents were acrobats at the Gotham Circus. They were murdered on stage on night. Richard had no other family so he became a ward of court. Then got adopted."

"That's sad," said Oliver with genuine concern,"but not weird. Kids get adopted every day. He's become a cop. He's done well for himself."

"Yeah," Felicity bit her lip. "Although when you consider who this kid was adopted by you somehow think that becoming a cop was slumming it."

The crowd outside was becoming more agitated. Oliver swung a glance at them and then returned his gaze to Felicity.

"What do you mean?" He said.

"The guy who took him in was Bruce Wayne," she said quietly.

If the utterance of the name was meant to have had some immediate shock inducing effect on Oliver, it didn't. He simply looked quizzical and said simply: "Who?"

"Oh," Felicity caught up with her own faux pas. Of course Oliver wouldn't know who that was. "He's this billionaire from Gotham. Apparently his parents were killed when he was a little kid. He disappeared for years and then turned up to claim his father's business empire. He's sort of come to prominence over the last few years."

"Sounds familiar," Oliver smirked. "A man after my own heart."

"Yeah," said Felicity grinning,"you could say that."

"So," Oliver, "officer Grayson hasn't taken a place in the family business. That's not a big issue. And it doesn't make him anything other than a determined young man. Obviously he wants to pursue his own destiny."

"Yeah," nodded Felicity in response to Oliver's argument. "I suppose you're right."

"If you've finished," Diggle interjected, pointing at the increasingly restless crowd outside, "I think Oliver's destiny is calling."

Oliver nodded, stood, took a deep breath and threw open the office door. He met the tsunami of shouts and waving of papers with calming hand gestures and a smile.

The various meetings with shareholders and investors hadn't gone well. All Oliver could do was reassure them that this was a minor wrinkle in the running of the business and that the future of Queen Consolidated, whilst not totally assured, was no where near the brink as they thought. However, even armed with this knowledge straight from the CEO, many of them were determined to sell whatever their investment was at whatever the price offered. Such was the panic. Such was the anxiety. Such was Oliver's frustration that he couldn't wait to release the pent up tension and frustration by dining his green leather costume and heading off into the night. So much so, in fact, that on the way to the warehouse, he prevented a mugging and a car theft. Both of the assailants were found the next morning still unconscious and pinned to nearby buildings by several arrows, sporting several cuts, bruises and broken bones.

Unlike at the previous deal, the organisers had left nothing to chance. From a vantage point a block a so away, Oliver spotted maybe half a dozen gunmen patrolling the roof of his target warehouse. There were maybe half a dozen more scattered around the perimeter, and it looked like the number at the entrance to the loading bay had been doubled too.

A faint creak of the metallic railing behind him forced him to spin around into a combat stance, whilst notching and arrow and tensing his bow string in one fluid movement. The figure raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and nodded his head with a shallow movement.

Oliver, recognising the man lowered his bow (if only slightly) to acknowledge that there was no harm meant. The other moved towards him and leaned over the building's edge to survey the scene below.

"They're more prepared than last time," Oliver whispered, cocking his head to indicate the crowd below. "Armed men on the roofs, too."

"I wouldn't have expected any less," the other man said. "You've got him rattled. I'm surprised he hasn't put a price on your head."

"He does that?" asked Oliver, somewhat taken aback , somewhat flattered, that a known criminal would think him such a threat.

"It happens," the other man shrugged, the leather of his uniform creaking as he raised his shoulders. "Anyway, we've got to take out those gunmen on the roof before we can break up the party downstairs."

"Agreed," Oliver nodded. "I take it you have a plan? I know how I'd do it."

"There's no time for debating this," snapped the other. "You have the ranged weapon. Take out the three on the far side.I'll take the ones nearest us." He indicated with a jabbing finger the direction in which the men should go. Oliver nodded and, though impressed with the fact that the man's plan was very similar to his own, he didn't show it.

"Sounds good," whispered Oliver. "Let's rendezvous back here in ten."

"Deal," the other nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey," Oliver called mutedly after him, the other turned. "What should I call you? We can't both be 'the vigilante'?"

"The press in Blüdhaven have dubbed me Nightwing," he sighed. "You can use that."  
Then he muttered with obvious contempt: "If you need to."

Oliver grinned to himself and, after watching the figure now known as Nightwing disappear into the darkness, he began to pick his way along the edge of the warehouse's roof to find a good sniping position.

The armed thugs on the roof top were easy enough to pick off from range: a lasso caught the first one around the ankles and sent him crashing into the roof knocking him unconscious, the second felt the shock of five hundred volts as a taser arrow impacted onto his chest and the third was instantly overcome by a cloud of knock out gas that vented from an arrow shot between his feet. So far so good. Returning to his starting position, Oliver met up with Nightwing who offered a conciliatory salute. Job done, thought the archer.

Both men then scanned the loading bay below: it was awash with armed men, many more than last time. Whoever was running this deal had turned up the dial on security. Plus those buying whatever was being sold had also brought their own private army. Whilst there was a option of jumping into the middle of them and instigating a surprise attack, both of men agreed that that approach was akin to suicide and therefore agreed a stealthier method was in order. The patrolling guards weren't moving as military sentries would, Nightwing explained. They're coverage of their patch wasn't the same on each pass - they were badly trained and sloppy. It would therefore, he said, be quite easy to isolate and dispatch them without raising an alarm. Especially, if both he and the archer worked in tandem. Once again Oliver was impressed that the other man's plan was similar, if not exactly the same as his own.

The four guards on the outer perimeter were dispatched simply and efficiently by being taken out from behind and knocked unconscious. The pair of vigilantes also made the point of binding and gagging them so they couldn't raise the alarm. The inner circle would be trickier. There were effectively two sets of armed guards to worry about. And, if they didn't handle this with care, they could find themselves in the middle of a minor war. It was a given that, as neither of the men in their uneasy alliance brandished a firearm, they would be easily overpowered in a straight fight. Their advantage was surprise and stealth. Unfortunately, against a minor army neither would be of much use. Therefore, a leveller was required.

The armed guards who were patrolling the immediate confines of one side of the warehouse parking lot heard it first. A faint humming sound raising to a high pitched whine. Racing, around a stack of abandoned crates to where the sound was emanating from, they found a metal stake driven into the ground with a speaker - from where the noise was coming from - and a canister. One of the guards tapped the canister with the muzzle of his rifle only to instantly regret his curiosity. The canister exploded assaulting the men with bright, white light which temporarily blinded them and set universes of stats dancing across their vision. Simultaneously, a terrific sub sonic boom deafened them and left the sound of a hundred phone boxes ringing in unison in their ears. The canister'a third gift was more traditional: a cloud of opaque, grey smoke whipped across the small lot and engulfed them. Due to their obvious discomfort and disorientation it was easy for Ollie and Nightwing (using heat sensitive goggles, naturally) to take each of them out.

It was only a matter of time before the shouts from those dispatched by the vigilantes brought their colleagues running to support them. By this time the confusion has spread to remain arena of the warehouse's main loading bay where the buyer was, quite rightly, looking nervously at his own men as the hulking figure of Black Mask presided over the management of this incident. However, this was all the distraction the heroes needed. Several arrows flew into the ground in front of the buyers entourage and instantly exploded in a similar way to the previous device. This however was more localised and stunned the guards sufficiently for Nightwing and Ollie to swoop down from their vantage point, disarm then incapacitate them. Several more blows later and the other men, plus the buyer were prone and would wake up several hours later in a police cell.

"Where's Black Mask?" called Nightwing to Oliver as the smoke cleared. Shouts from the men who had been drawn away from the deal was taking place where punctuating the air. It wouldn't be long before they returned.  
"He must've gone inside," yelled Oliver, one eye on the direction where the voices were coming from. "You go after him," he yelled across at Nightwing, sensing the man's obvious need to track the criminal down, and nodding toward he warehouse. "I'll clear up here."

The other man shot a glance at the oncoming crowd, nodded at Oliver and fled into the darkened interior. Oliver grinned to himself and notched an arrow into his bow. It was going to be a good night after all, he thought.

Black Mask had taken advantage of the melee to make his escape. Heading back into the warehouse he located the motorcycle he had hidden as his contingency. If being in this business has taught him anything, it was to always have a back up plan. He quickly pulled the tarpaulin cover back from the machine and wheeled it from the nook where it had been stored. Then, cocking a swift glance over his shoulder to view the events at the loading bay behind him, he mounted the bike and hammered the start pedal.

The machine thundered into life. Black Mask felt it vibrate beneath him, shaking through his body and combining with the rage of frustration he felt as yet another deal in Starling City soured. He twisted the accelerator and sped off into the warehouse's deceptively spacious interior. He sped past rack upon rack of abandoned crates and boxes, piled ceiling high and in various states of disarray and decay. Their livery, if he had had the time to notice, was as varied as Starling City's past. The Queen Consolidated crest dominated the designs on the shelves of crates, along with Sionis Industries and few lesser known companies that had since fallen to decline and bankruptcy. If he had had the time, or inclination, to notice he would have seen that the shelves to his left were arranged in such a way as to provide a perfect platform for anyone entering the warehouse and wishing to traverse its vast interior without touching the floor. And that's exactly what Nightwing thought as he leapt from the top of the shelves aiming a two footed kick into Black Mask's side.

The black clad man had fired a line up to the supporting beams of the warehouse from the entrance and swung up onto the top of the shelves. His momentum carried him forward onto the next row of shelves and so on until he had caught up with the fleeing criminal. Timing was of the essence as he launched himself into the air and met the motorcyclist with enough force to unbalance him.

The force of Nightwing's kick had sent both men tumbling into the discarded boxes that cluttered the floor immediately to the right of them. Both men rolled through the debris as the shock and force of previous action took control. The motorcycle, it's engine spluttering and dying, was sent scuttling off in the opposite direction and came to rest under a row of shelves to the left.

Black Mask was the first to recover and, detaching himself from the cardboard he managed to stand on unsteady feet to tower over the still prone Nightwing. The latter, rolled over to gaze up at the criminal above him. A small cut on his cheek began to bleed, sending blood over his face and into his mouth. He unconsciously wiped at it with a gloves hand.

Black Mask reached under his jacket and withdrew a large revolver. He took careful aim at Nightwing's head, thumbed back the hammer and prepared to release a round into the other's skull. Black Mask paused as if savouring the moment. Maybe he was thinking that this was the moment he would be free from man who had made been, whilst not a real threat to his operation, certainly an annoyance. Maybe he thought that there was need of a moment of contemplation of the deed about to be performed. Maybe he just wanted to delay the action sufficiently so that Nightwing could see the end coming and be suitably terrified by it. Whatever the reason, with hindsight, Black Mask would probably say he waited too long...

Nightwing heard it first and turned his head sharply in its direction. Black Mask became aware of it too, but could do very little to react to it. The sound of a giant inhaling deeply cut through the usual night noises of the warehouse and preceded a loud thump whose impact drove Back Mask backwards and knocked him from his feet. The arrow which had appeared in his chest began to smoulder before discharging a few hundred volts into the big man's torso. Black Mask convulsed and tipped the revolver from his hand.

"Gotta love tasers," murmured the Hood as he jumped down from the shelves above and proceeded to poke the fallen criminal with his toe. He smiled and then extended a hand to help Nightwing up from the floor. The black clad man reluctantly accepted and rose to his feet. The masked man ran winced and cradled his left side. His also sent tentative fingers up to examine the grazing on his face

"Bruised ribs," Ollie said in recognition. "And I'll bet that scuff on your face stings."

"I've had worse," groaned Nightwing, crouching next to Black Mask's unconscious form. Still cradling his side, he reached out with his left hand and uncoupled the solid mask that encased the fallen man's head.

"You'd better hurry," warned The Hood. "Police are on they're way."

"I know," murmured the other vigilante. "What about the other guards?"

"They got caught up," Ollie said with a chuckle. "In a huge net."

"Good," replied the other, his face not breaking from its scowl of concentration. His fingered worked on unfastening the mask and presently it was removed.

"Look," the archer said presently, aware of the sound of distant sirens, "we need to go. Do you need a lift somewhere? Like hospital? I've got some people who can patch you up."

"Don't you want to see who he is?" said Nightwing through gritted teeth.

"Well, yeah, but -" Ollie started but the other man cut him off. In one movement he removed the mask and exposed the face of the crime-lord for all to see.

"Well I'll be..." Oliver trailed off as his stared at the newly revealed face. "That explains a lot."

"Yeah," agreed Nightwing. "It certainly does. And to answer your last question: thanks, but I'll be okay."

They then agreed to bind Black Mask and leave him for the police to arrive.

"Roman Sionis?!" said Diggle with incredulity. He was perched on the edge of a work bench in the cellar of Ollie's club that served as their operations hub. "Seriously? Man, that is messed up. Big time."

Oliver leaned back in his chair, places his hands behind his head and grinned like a school boy. "Yup," he said allowing himself a chuckle. "Who'd have thought a shady business man actually did his own dirty work."

"I suppose the mask helped him keep his obvious criminal activities separate from his clandestine ones," Felicity said, turning around from her workstation to offer an innocent look. "Because that's so original."

Oliver gave her a stern look. She shot him a glance over her glasses and said: "And there couldn't be any connection between him being outed as a murdering arms dealer and his company dropping their interest in Queen Consolidated, could there?"

"Oh," Oliver's smile returned, "absolutely none whatsoever."

Felicity smiled back and then returned to her screen. "By the way," she said nonchalantly, " you've got an appointment with Officer Grayson in twenty minutes. Shall I cancel?"

"No," said Oliver. "No. I probably need to speak to him."

"Officer Grayson!" Oliver gushed as he entered his office finding the other man already seated. He offered his hand to the police man and noted the ponderous way in which the other extended his own to meet it. Oliver also noted the slight wince as they shook hands.

"What brings you back?" Queen continued, seating himself behind his desk. The other man broke into a slight smile which was in stark contrast to the way he had deported himself at their previous meeting.

"I just wanted to let you know that Roman Sionis was arrested last night," he said, the smile threatening to widen.

"Really?" Oliver offered, mock surprise forcing his voice higher. " For what?"

"I can't divulge details," Grayson said, his tone though flatter, still held a playful air. "But let's just say - off the record - that I doubt he'll be wanting to buy Queen Consolidated any time soon."

"Well that is good news," said Oliver.

"I need to go," said Grayson standing. Oliver noticed again that his movements were awkward as he rose from the chair. He also noted that there was a raw, angry graze on his cheek.

"That looks painful," said Oliver, rising too an nodding toward the cut. "Recent too. How'd you do it?"

"Had an accident with a bike," the other man said, this time smiling broadly.

Oliver suppressed a smile, shock the other's hand and watched him go. He had no doubt they would meet again.


End file.
